


For a Good Time Call (Roddenberry Customer Service)

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: Call Me, Maybe [1]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: AU, Canon Compliant Technically, M/M, Mostly Dialogue, Phone Sex, Ridiculous, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, the Spock-Works-in-a-Call-Center-AU no one asked for except for me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Good Time Call (Roddenberry Customer Service)

**Author's Note:**

> i live for aus, it's a problem lmao. i also recently started working in a call center and i couldn't help but think spock would have a good voice/composure for working in a call center. set in a similar verse to _i know who i want to take me home_ , where spock has a job while he's attending starfleet--except this ties a little more clearly into canon. also, i am immensely not-creative when it come to thinking up clever names for fictional companies lmao
> 
> not beta'd, hope you like it!!

“Good evening, thank you for calling Roddenberry Customer Service, my name is Spock. May I start with your first and last name, please?” Spock drones with his eyes trained on the monitors before him and his fingers poised over the keys of his console. As the customer rattles off in his ear—of course, neglecting to give their first and last name as Spock had asked, instead launching into a rant—Spock takes in the information half-heartedly. It’s easy to listen a little and hear a lot, and by the time he actually gets the customer’s name, Spock has already figured out a solution to the issue at hand.

Not that it matters much, as he can’t get a word in edgewise. Not for the first time he wonders why he took on a job so riddled with illogical and emotional people, whom he has to deal with and has no escape from except weekends and mornings. He wonders why he agreed to the overnight shift when it’s slow and pays no differently from the daytime shift and yet, here he is.

When the customer eventually trails off, Spock calmly explains what to do, how to do it, and when the customer doesn’t bother to thank him Spock doesn’t bother getting riled up. He’s seen his coworkers get upset over the lack of manners their customers have, but Spock finds it simply unnecessary to have a fit over anything like that. He reasons (to himself, silently, never mentioning this to anyone else) that if his coworkers get so worked up over other people’s emotions, how are they any different from the customers themselves?

Spock sighs as silence settles over the call center again. He checks the time on the screen before him and watches the minutes tick by far too slowly. All he wants is to meditate, clear his mind of the absurdity of others and slip into a restful state. He’s just beginning to settle, lulled into something akin to a false sense of security, when his phone chimes again to announce an incoming call. Spock has a moment to collect himself before he says again—

“Good evening, thank you for calling Roddenberry Customer Service, my name is Spock. May I start with—?”

He’s interrupted by a series of hiccups intermingling with laughter. The voice sounds both too close and too distant at the same time, distorted by the bad connection or perhaps the customer is holding the phone a bizarre way.

“May I start with your first and last name?” Spock asks, allowing only a hint of irritation to bleed into his tone.

A peel of scattered laughter before the customer seems to come back to themselves. _“Sorry, sorry,”_ the customer snickers, decidedly male. _“I, uh, don’t even know why I’m calling this.”_

Spock’s brow furrows. “Are you experiencing any technical difficulties with your Roddenberry home system or another Roddenberry product?” He asks, not really all that curious.

 _“What?”_ The customer sounds even more confused. _“Shit, uh, musta called the wrong number. M’bad.”_ The line clicks and goes silent, leaving Spock more exasperated than before.

He looks at the clock again and tries to find peace in the fact there’s only three more hours till his shift ends.

-

The next night is even slower if that’s possible (a thought ambles through Spock’s mind of _it’s always possible_ ), but even the scattered amount of calls does little to alleviate his boredom.

That is, until a familiar voice calls again.

_“H’llo?”_

“Thank you for calling Roddenberry—?”

 _“Dammit,”_ the gruff and drunken voice mumbles unhappily. _“Again? How do I keep calling this number? Coulda sworn this is the number…”_ His grumbling trails off but the customer makes no move to hang up.

Spock’s gaze flicks first to the time—two hours till the end of his shift—then to the call-waiting light that isn’t even lit up, meaning there’s no customers in the queue. Spock tunes out the customer’s voice for a moment to weigh his options. He can guide the call to a reasonable, logical conclusion, as clearly the customer is not truly a Roddenberry customer or is at the very least not dealing with any technical difficulties at this time. Or, Spock considers, he could perhaps indulge the only source of potential relief for his boredom…

 _“Uh,”_ a hiccup, _“y’still there?”_

“I am here.”

A pleased hum. _“Sorry I keep drunk dialin’ this number, thought this was…fuck, doesn’t matter anyway.”_

Spock can admit his curiosity is piqued. “There are no other calls needing my assistance. If it is an open ear you desire, I would be amenable to providing such a service.” Spock settles back in his chair, not needing to take notes as there’s no customer account to pull up. He listens to the distinct sounds of the customer gulping down something, either more booze or perhaps some water to curtail the drunken stupor.

A laugh, then, after the soft clink of a glass hitting a table. _“Don’t need an open ear, I don’t think…”_ More incoherent mumbling, but Spock doesn’t hang up. _“Think I could ask a favor of ya?”_

“Certainly,” Spock agrees readily. He can’t deny the interest he has in knowing what favor will be asked of him, he can’t deny wondering why this man has called this number two nights in a row without, apparently, meaning to.

 _“Could you, uh, stay on the line with me? Just till I doze off, shouldn’t be long. Drunk off my ass,”_ another laugh, less amused and more unpleasant.

“Certainly,” Spock says again as he’s suddenly at a loss for what to say. He listens to the soft, nearly unintelligible muttering clashing with the static of the call, until it trails off into soft breathing. The breathing eventually slows to a timeless rhythm; one Spock knows to indicate deep sleep. The corners of his lips quirking, he bids a silent goodnight to the man over the phone before disconnecting the call.

When he looks at the clock he’s both startled and a bit delighted to realize his shift is just about finished.

-

It doesn’t happen for another week and over the course of the days where no call comes, Spock tells himself it’s ridiculous to worry. The man had only been exceptionally drunk during the last call, and perhaps a bit sad, but nothing more. There’s no need to fret over someone he doesn’t even know, and there’s certainly no reason to worry that the man has done something reckless.

Spock blames his friendship with Jim—who is considered none too quietly to be the king of all things reckless. Were Spock a lesser man, he’d be overtaken with concern for his friend more often than not.

It’s a quarter till his shift ends when the call comes through. The man is already speaking before Spock can open his mouth.

 _“Uh, so, I really hope this is the guy I’ve been talkin’ to lately,”_ the familiar voice drawls, _“otherwise this is gonna sound damn awkward.”_ The man doesn’t pause for confirmation and instead barrels onward. _“Just wanted to call and let ya know m’not dead or anything like that. Woke up the next morning in a heap on the floor with a bottle of brandy stainin’ the carpet and realized what a damn mess I’d become. Wasn’t till I sobered up a day or so later that, ah, I realized what I said could’ve been considered a bit morbid.”_

Spock doesn’t let out a sigh of relief, not audibly. “I am pleased to hear you are doing well,” he says honestly.

It garners a laugh. _“Yeah? Good, good. You’re a good man, uh, what did you say your name was again?”_

“Spock.”

 _“Spock, huh? That’s an interesting one_.” A beat passes and Spock can hear the rumble of a holovid playing in the background. _“M’Leonard.”_

“Leonard.” Spock lets the name out in a breath. “Did you need my assistance again, this evening?” He side-eyes the clock and is almost frustrated that he’ll need to cut their call short in a few minutes. He doesn’t give that away quite yet.

_“No, no, not drunk tonight. Been thinking about trying to clean up my act, ya know?”_

Spock doesn’t. “Certainly.”

Another chuckle. _“That your favorite word, huh?”_ Leonard carries on without waiting for a response. _“I just, hell I don’t know, I guess I felt bad leaving you hanging like that. Seemed impolite.”_

Spock resists the urge to nod as his companion would not see it. “I understand. Your concern is appreciated.”

Leonard makes a pleased noise that seems to bellow from deep in his throat. _“Good, good. It’s late, Spock, I oughta let you get back to work.”_

“Very well, Leonard.”

_“Uh, right, then.”_

“Leonard?”

_“Spock?”_

“If you would like to continue calling and do not mind the fact that calls are recorded for training and quality purposes, then I feel it necessary to state I do not mind either.”

A pause. _“Alright, Spock. Thank you. I’ll—I’ll call you soon, alright?”_

“Very well. Good night, Leonard.”

_“Night, Spock.”_

-

And so it becomes a habit, one more often indulged and for longer stretches of time with each call. Spock reasons that as long as the call waiting light is not blinking at him, it’s acceptable to carry on. He doesn’t admit it aloud, but there’s a certain buzzing thrill in his stomach each time Leonard’s call connects, each time Spock hears the familiar soft hiss of his breathing. Spock hasn’t divulged much instead opting to listen to Leonard about any and all things that come to mind.

He’s learned so far that Leonard was once a doctor, before (in Leonard’s words) ‘his whole damn life fell right to shit.’ He learns that Leonard is also divorced, with a daughter he sees on the weekends, when the ex-wife allows it (which she has not, for a long while). He learns that both of Leonard’s parents have passed, and that Leonard prefers not to spend much time grieving over them. He learns that Leonard is endlessly amused and irritated by Spock’s Vulcan nature, but Leonard also makes no move to stop their communications.

_“Hey, Spock?”_

“Yes, Leonard?” Spock replies. They’ve been sitting in pleasant silence. Spock, with his eyes trained between the clock and the call waiting light, has been listening to the soft hum of whatever holovid it is Leonard has on tonight. Sounds like something older, as the audio quality isn’t as strong as more recent productions. His Vulcan hearing allows him to make out most of what is said, but he still isn’t entirely sure what’s been happening. The sound of it, though, is far more engaging than the typical silence of the call center.

_“Tell me about y’self.”_

“What do you wish to know?”

Leonard laughs. _“Whatever y’wanna tell me. I feel like I’ve told you my damn life story, and so far, all I know is your name, and that you work in an excruciatingly dull call center for Roddenberry.”_

Spock grins to himself and decides it’s perfectly fine as no one is around to see it. “You also know that I am half Vulcan,” he points out.

Leonard heaves a long-suffering and amused sigh. _“Don’t remind me.”_ Leonard pauses. _“I don’t know, Spock. Tell me about your family, your childhood, what you do when you aren’t here slacking off in your duties.”_

Spock doesn’t rise to the bait. “My family, then.”

He receives a hum in reply, as if Leonard is saying _go ahead_.

“My mother was human, and my father is Vulcan.” Spock pauses, unsure of what to say beyond the plain and simple. “My mother passed away with the destruction of Vulcan. She was a good woman.” He steeples his fingers in his lap and concentrates on anything but the faint tug of dread that always threatens to overtake him.

_“Spock, you don’t have to.”_

Spock takes the out. “I’m afraid beyond the unusual coupling of my parents, my family is of little interest.”

Leonard laughs. _“That’s alright, Spock. What about what you do when you’re not trapped talking to me?”_

“I am taking classes during the day,” Spock replies. “I occasionally spend time with classmates or a close friend, but otherwise my day to day life is similarly uneventful as my lineage.”

_“And yet, Spock, you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in years.”_

Spock doesn’t point out that he and Leonard have never actually met. He feels as though they have, over the weeks of talking. He feels remarkably close to the other man for having no idea what he looks like. It’s almost unsettling, if Spock allows himself to think of it too deeply.

“Leonard, if I may ask, how are your endeavors to avoid alcohol going?” It’s been several weeks—since the night Leonard fell asleep on the phone with Spock—since Leonard has seemed at all drunk. It’s been a pleasant surprise, each time Spock answers the phone and there’s no slurred muttering.

 _“It’s… I’ll be honest with ya, Spock, it’s a damn struggle. But it’s worth it. I may even get to see my baby girl this weekend, keepin’ this up.”_ Leonard sighs happily. _“Who knows, maybe I’ll even be able to make something of myself again.”_

“Of that, Leonard,” Spock replies without hesitation, “I have no doubt.”

-

  _“Tell me something, Spock. Why d’ya spend your nights like this?”_

Spock inhales sharp and silent. He contemplates his possible answers, ranging from absolute truth to minor deception. He decides to divulge in pieces. “My work here is admittedly dull and infrequent. It is nice to have someone to pass the time with. Though there are others who work the same shift as I—thus, allowing our conversations at all—none of us are seated near one another. Socializing is hardly a priority, if available at all.” It’s more than a few pieces, but Spock prides himself on not entirely giving away exactly how much he enjoys talking to Leonard.

Spock listens to the soft rustling of Leonard nodding. _“Do you enjoy it?”_

“Enjoy what, Leonard?” Spock asks, heart hammering under his skin. He knows full well what Leonard had meant, but the sudden need to play on ignorance and hear the words outright had been too strong.

_“Enjoy talkin’ to me, Spock.”_

“I do,” Spock assures. “And you?”

 _“And me what?”_ Leonard retorts. He sounds simultaneously sharp witted and entirely ridiculous.

Spock smiles all the same. “And do you enjoy talking to me?” His heart has slowed just a touch, enough that he doesn’t feel his pulse hammering in his throat. More so it hums like the strings of a lute played ever so gently. It’s a content feeling, even surrounded by the plain and somewhat sterile walls of his cubicle.

_“I do, Spock. Truly do.”_

-

 _“You shoulda seen’er, Spock. She was gorgeous, all dolled up with her hair pulled back. Haven’t seen her in close to something like two months, and I just don’t know if I can go that long again.”_ Leonard’s words are wistful and his southern drawl seeps more thoroughly into his speech patterns. _“Just can’t believe I finally got to see her again, Spock.”_

“I am pleased for you, Leonard.” Spock’s tone is earnest, far more so than he’d allow himself to be with anyone else. The only person he speaks nearly as openly to would be Jim, and even then, not so much. There’s something about Leonard, about what he and Spock have shared thus far, that makes their relationship so vastly different.

_“Look at me, rambling like a crazy ol’ man.”_

“I do not mind, Leonard.”

_“I know ya don’t, doesn’t mean I should hog all the time yappin’ about Joanna.”_

“I do not mind,” Spock says again, still earnest. He doesn’t remind Leonard that Spock’s own life is jarringly quiet and disinteresting comparatively. Not boring, per se, and not without its moments, but Spock has nothing to ‘yap’ about the way Leonard so often does.

 _“Dammit, man, I know_ you _don’t mind. Maybe I mind, ever think of that?”_

In all honesty, no, Spock hadn’t. “Why would you mind, Leonard?” Spock asks with genuine confusion. He sits up a little straighter in his chair.

 _“Because, you hobgoblin, maybe I_ want _to hear about your damn day! Maybe I don’t want to always be the sorry sonnuva bitch whining away, while you stay holed up in your god damned ice fortress like telling me about yourself is just too much to ask!”_

Spock sinks into his seat as quickly as he straightened, feeling suitably quelled by Leonard’s sharp and insistent words.

_“Jesus Christ, Spock, you honestly think I want to be the only one spouting off?”_

“I—I do not know.” Spock turns his eyes downcast. “I simply did not mind listening to you, Leonard, that is all.”

A sigh, aggravated and fond. _“I know that you green-blooded fool.”_ Some rustling, then an awkward silence settles over their call. _“I oughta go.”_

“Leonard—?”

_“G’night, Spock.”_

After a click, to a static-ridden silence, Spock replies. “Good night, Leonard.”

-

Leonard does not call for several days. Over those days, Spock takes to keeping a notebook and pen handy at all times and takes to writing down anything remotely noteworthy that happens. He gets splashed when some kids run by him without care, and is late to class because he takes the time to change into dry clothes. Jim gets absurdly drunk and shows up at Spock’s work one night and keeps him company through a rare stretch of absolutely no calls. Spock takes notes, too many notes, probably, in hopes he’ll get the chance to share them with Leonard soon.

-

_“I’m sorry, Spock.”_

It’s late in his shift, another night of virtually no disturbances; Spock had slipped into a softly meditative state when the phone chimed in his ear just before Leonard’s voice flooded his senses.

_“Spock?”_

“I am here, Leonard.” Spock reaches for his notebook and flips to the first page. “If you would be amenable, I would like to share my days with you.” Spock’s voice doesn’t waver as he speaks, but it’s a near thing. He thumbs the corner of the page uneasily.

He’s met with a stretch of silence. _“Spock, I’m sorry.”_

“I know, Leonard.” Spock skims the page as he speaks, idly deciding what tidbit he might share first. “However, I must also apologize. I will not make excuses; I will simply say I know that I was being…illogical.” Spock tilts his head slightly.

_“You’re not mad at me?”_

Spock’s brow furrows. “Why would I be mad? It is only logical that you would enjoy hearing about my day, as much as I had enjoyed hearing about yours. Again, I will not make excuses, but I would like to say that…” Spock trails off as he feels a blush burn in his cheeks. “I have never done anything of this sort before, Leonard. I often times find myself unsure of how to proceed.”

_“Never done this before—Spock, are you tellin’ me you’ve never had a boyfriend before?”_

His blush worsens and not for the first time he’s thankful he and Leonard are not face to face. “I have not dated anyone before, Leonard.” He doesn’t launch in a spiel about Vulcans not dating casually, doesn’t go into his usual half-hearted tirade about the frivolity of most relationships. He lays out the truth plain and simple. “No one has ever expressed a desire to, and I have never found someone who awakened such a desire in myself.”

_“You saying I ‘awaken’ that desire in you?”_

Spock raises a hand to feel the blush that burns his cheeks and marvels at how his already warm skin feels scalding to the touch. “Indeed, Leonard.” Spock quickly speaks again. “Are we boyfriends?” He asks in a quiet voice, one-part wonderment and one-part hope.

Leonard laughs, and after so long of not hearing it, Spock feels relief wash over him in comforting waves. _“Well I certainly think so, you elf.”_ Leonard keeps laughing softly for several moments after. _“Alright, alright, our first spat outta the way. You going to tell me about your day?”_

“Days, Leonard.” Spock emphasizes the first word. “I have been taking notes.”

-

_“Think we’ll ever meet in person?”_

Spock startles a bit, having been admittedly absorbed in some schoolwork as he listened to whatever holovid Leonard is watching tonight. "I would hope so, Leonard. Unless you are in some exceedingly distant corner of the galaxy, I do not see it being much of an impossibility that we might meet face to face.”

_“Where do you live, Spock?”_

“San Francisco. And you?”

_“I’ll be damned, I moved there a few months ago. Just before we started talkin’, actually. Before that, I lived in Georgia.”_

Spock nods to himself as he scans the padd in his lap. “Do you enjoy the city?”

_“It’s alright. It’s closer to Jo, which I’m always okay with. Better job opportunities too, even for someone a bit down on their luck.”_

Spock smiles. “You have come a long way, Leonard.”

 _“Damn right I have.”_ Leonard sighs, and his recliner squeaks as he stretches—a sound Spock knows very well by now. _“Say, Spock?”_

Spock hums.

_“Thank you.”_

“You are most welcome, Leonard.”

_“When we meet, I’ll take you someplace nice, alright?”_

“I would be more than happy to join you at home with a holovid, Leonard.”

 _“Well aren’t you a cheap date,”_ Leonard says with laugh.

-

They talk a lot and about many things, but there are just as many things they don’t talk about. Leonard makes no mentions of friends outside of Spock and Joanna—even Jocelyn, he hardly talks about. Spock doesn’t bring up Jim, or at least not often. He’s unsure as to why, but the thought of bringing Jim into the conversation sets off something unpleasant in Spock’s heart. He knows Jim to be an intriguing person, with far more charm under his belt than Spock; it’s jealousy, or wariness, perhaps, but it is entirely Spock’s prerogative. In a similar fashion, he doesn’t tell Jim about Leonard.

They talk about their childhoods, their parents; about Spock’s classes and how Leonard has been brushing up on old textbooks, reawakening the knowledge deep-seated in his mind. They talk about what they hope to do when they meet, where they want to go in life, how their paths will intersect and entwine.

-

“This is an ill thought out idea, Leonard.” Despite his words, Spock feels flushed to his core and can only imagine what a ridiculous shade of darker green his face must be.

Leonard’s breathless voice is in his ear. _“Live a little, Spock.”_

“I must remind you these calls are recorded.”

_“Please, you think anyone there really cares about these calls? No one is listening.”_

“You cannot know that Leonard—?”

_“Listen, if you lose your job over this I will personally see to it that you get a nice cushy job somewhere else, where I can still annoy you every night.”_

Spock smiles in spite of himself. Another rush of burning lust thrums through his body at the soft and slick sound of Leonard masturbating. Spock’s mouth feels suddenly dry.

_“It’s okay, Spock, you don’t have to say much.”_

“You do not even know what I look like, it is unlikely you are fantasizing about my appearance.” Spock wants to speak, wants to aid Leonard along just as much as he wants to listen intently.

 _“Don’t need to know what you look like to know you’re damn gorgeous.”_ The wet sound increases and it’s harmonized with a tell-tale squeak of the recliner. Leonard is in his living room—not his private quarters, as Spock would be were he one to indulge like this—and that sends another thrill through Spock. _“Is this too much? If you want me to stop—?”_

“I do not wish for you to stop,” Spock interjects. It’s taking a great deal of control not to let his arousal take over, to let his cock slip out from his sheath. He slides his chair closer to his desk as though to hide himself. “Don’t stop,” he says again, gratified when Leonard’s breath catches.

_“Does this turn you on?”_

Spock bites his lip. He feels too warm all over; the urge to strip just to alleviate the heat is verging on overwhelming. “Yes, Leonard.”

A long, breathless sigh. _“Gotta admit,”_ a choked laugh, _“doin’ this will be a whole world better once I do know what you really look like.”_

“And I, you.” Spock resists the urge to hide his face in his hands.

 _“Do you jerk off thinking about me?”_ There’s a lurid, mischievous lilt in Leonard’s tone that Spock finds instantly infuriating and alluring.

“Yes,” Spock says again against his better judgement.

_“What do you think about?”_

“Leonard—?”

 _“S’alright, Spock, don’t worry darlin’, let me tell you what I think about.”_ A pause as Leonard’s breathing slows and the sounds of his hand on his cock cease. _“Still okay?”_

Spock swallows and bites his lip. “Yes, Leonard.”

 _“I imagine being on my knees for you, sitting under that desk of yours.”_ Leonard’s words have a curve to them like he’s grinning. _“Don’t need much more than my imagination to think about what sucking you off would be like.”_

Spock inhales sharply and grips the edges of his desk tight.

_“You like that, huh? I know your voice so well, it’s so easy to imagine all the little sounds you’d make with my tongue on your cock, especially when you’re trying to take calls like a good little worker-bee.”_

Spock can’t help but cast a glance down to his lap where he’s still struggling not to give entirely into the arousal. It’s harder for him to imagine the image of Leonard—a man who’s face he doesn’t know—on his knees, but the sensation is easy to conjure. Spock parts his lips in a small ‘o.’

 _“That’s it, darlin’,”_ Leonard coos. _“Sometimes I think about your fingers, too. Did some reading on Vulcans and all their touch-telepathy.”_

Spock keens before he can stop himself. Pleasure burns in his groin, insistent and unrelenting like a rising tidal wave.

 _“That’s the ticket, huh Spock?”_ Leonard sounds immensely smug and Spock barely finds it in himself to be annoyed.

“Leonard.”

 _“Alright, alright, I’ll get on with it.”_ Leonard shifts, and Spock can see the vague image he’s put together in his mind of what the other man looks like—Spock can see him settling into his chair. _“I think about sucking your fingers, Spock, getting them nice and wet, before asking you real nicely to finger me open.”_

Spock shudders, presses his palm against his groin, and comes with a stuttering, soft moan. He listens over the blood rushing in his ears as Leonard comes with a grunt, a hiss of Spock’s name slipping between his clenched teeth.

Leonard chuckles to himself. _“Now we really oughta work on meeting in person.”_

Spock clears his throat before answering. “Indeed.”

-

_“That damn bastard.”_

Spock raises an eyebrow at his computer screen. “Leonard?”

_“That damn conniving bastard, shoulda known from the beginning—good evening, Spock, gimme a minute, would ya?”_

Spock acquiesces and returns his attention to his padd. Despite his intent to focus on his work while Leonard sorted out whatever was bothering him, Spock couldn’t help but wonder.

_“Spock, do you by chance know a bleeding heart fool named James Tiberius Kirk?”_

Spock’s blood goes cold, not unlike Leonard is always mocking him for. “I do, yes. He is a friend from my classes.”

More mumbling, a stray bout of profanity spewed every other moment. More rustlings: the sound of a coat slipping over Leonard’s torso, and of him bending at the waist to lace up his boots. _“I should’ve known.”_

“Known what, Leonard?” Spock asks.

Leonard heaves a great sigh. _“James T. Kirk is a longtime, close, personal friend of mine who convinced me to move to this damn city about eight months ago now, and from the day I met him, he’s never stopped trying to hook me up with someone.”_ Leonard pauses, perhaps to let this sink in or perhaps to collect himself. _“Then, not too long after I got settled here, he passed along a damn number and said it was some godforsaken sex hotline I should call to ‘lighten up.’”_

Spock opens his mouth, but Leonard is clearly on a roll.

_“After giving me that number, good ol’ Jim stopped dead cold trying to set me up, and I should’ve known right then that he was up to something.”_

Spock blinks. “Are you saying, Leonard, that our mutual friend Jim has endeavored to, as you put it, ‘hook us up’ with one another?”

 _“Seems about so, Spock.”_ Leonard grunts in irritation again. _“Hell, Jimmy, why’d you—?”_ Jim is clearly not there (Spock knows Jim well enough to know his friend would be loud in either explaining his reasoning, or cackling with cocky delight in his success) so Spock interrupts his boyfriend.

“Leonard, if I may?”

_“Course.”_

“While I am also less than pleased by Jim’s efforts and immaturity, I cannot say the results of his plan are a bad thing.” Spock breathes deep to center himself; there’s a spark of anger boiling in his veins at Jim’s foolishness, but alongside it is an undeniable sense of gratitude. “I would still very much like to meet you in person.”

More rustling, then the slight chime of keys being hastily shoved into a coat pocket. _“You get off in about twenty minutes, don’t you Spock?”_

“That is correct, Leonard.”

_“Well I’ll see you soon, then.”_

 

 

 

 

_**Epilogue** _

“I’m telling you, Jim, just because it all worked out doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do!”

Spock watches, a few steps behind, as Leonard berates Jim not for the first time and certainly not for the last. He pretends to be focused on his padd and the data it’s filled with. He does scan the roster lists with half a mind, taking note of who has checked into the ship already and who has yet to arrive. He can’t help but let his attention be diverted by his best friend and boyfriend squabbling for the umpteenth time.

“Bones, you gotta relax. Shouldn’t you two be thanking me, after all I’ve done for you?” Jim retorts with a slap to Leonard’s shoulder.

“Don’t you tell me to relax!” Leonard snaps immediately. “Why do I get the sense that I’m gonna be after you for a lotta things like this in our near future, Jim?”

“Because you’re the fool who decided to become friends with a genius like me?” Jim asks with a falsely innocent fluttering of his eyelashes.

Spock feels gratified by the way Leonard rolls his eyes, duly unaffected by Jim’s attempt at charm. As they all slip into the turbolift, Spock reaches out two fingers to brush them softly against Leonard’s own.

“I know, I know, I can’t help it! It’s been ages, Spock, you think he’d just admit already that what he did was downright sleezy.”

“All the same, Leonard, it is no less true that we do indeed owe a lot to the Captain.”

Jim laughs, and Leonard groans. “Five years in space, god help me if I don’t go mad between the two of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is exceptionally ridiculous but i had so much fun writing it, i hope you all enjoyed reading!!
> 
> come talk to me abt spones at [my tumblr](http://punk-rock-yuppie.tumblr.com/)!!


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